


did you do something with your hair?

by glamrockmoira



Category: Saints Row
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Wish Fulfillment, saints row: the third
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 14:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17489351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glamrockmoira/pseuds/glamrockmoira
Summary: “Boss. It's Viola. I have someone I want you to meet. Call back when you can; I know you're busy but it's kind of important.”





	did you do something with your hair?

“Boss. It's Viola. I have someone I want you to meet. Call back when you can; I know you're busy but it's kind of important.”

Her thumb hovers over the “call back” button, and she considers it, but then she remembers there is bright blue dye close to her ear. The idea of wiping that off her phone sounds unpleasant at the moment.

“You gonna get that, boss?” Shaundi runs one gloved finger over her hairline to catch the baby hairs.

“Later.” 

She does a sort of hum of agreement and continues her work.

Kinzie is curled into a small ball on one end of the couch in front of her, laptop balanced on the arm of the sofa and huge headphones over her ears. Pierce is watching some chess strategy video on his phone. The sound would normally be an annoyance, but the quiet voice is soothing today.

She lays her hand over the towel that she's sitting on to catch any stray drops of dye, looks at the empty space on the back of her hand and wonders what tattoo she'll get to fill that space. It's been too long since she's been in the chair -- that unique pain is the only thing that keeps her mind busy. Well, that and some old-fashioned violence, but she's more concerned with painting the streets purple than red.

She thinks she might go in and ask the artist to surprise her. What's the worst that could happen? An ugly tattoo? After losing him, a bad tattoo doesn't seem to mean anything. If she doesn't like it, she can cut off her fucking hand for all she cares.

Shaundi sighs. “Alright, think I got everything. Now we wait.”

She stands and walks to the patio, sitting at the edge of the pool and dipping her feet in, watching her purple toes wiggle under the serene ripples.

He'd like it here, she thinks. This swanky condo with all the accoutrements...she pictures him in this pool with two or three slim but large-breasted girls in bikinis. It makes her almost laugh to think about -- almost. He'd never have done something like that if he was alone. Sure, the image of being powerful, desirable was something that appealed to him. One too many DePalma movies taken out of context, she's sure, same as her. But when he was alone, he was alone and he liked it that way.

She remembers the dream she had almost every night before he was taken from her. Pulling his face up to hers, kissing him, and his hands folding around her face in response. She remembers, more vividly, the one that came after, reaching for him and watching him disintegrate in her hands. 

She always woke screaming, sobbing. It's why Shaundi took to sleeping beside her; and having a warm, familiar shape in her bed beside her helps. Even if she knows, knows that Shaundi thinks of someone else when her face is between her legs, having someone to touch and to touch her soothes something deep within her.

Or it did. She stopped asking Shaundi to join her, started locking the door to the master suite when she retired for the night. And she has not pressed the matter. That's what she loves most about Shaundi, and in another life, it might have been her that stole the heart of the boss of the Third Street Saints. But there's nothing left to steal anymore.

Once the dye has soaked in, she washes it out in the giant shower, conditions her hair, wraps it in an old t-shirt to air dry, and pads back out to the living room. Her three confidants are still there, talking in hushed tones to a petite figure in a grey sweater dress.

“Look, I know you mean well -- actually, I don't know that -- but now is not a good time,” Pierce is insisting.

“Is there ever a good time? This is important, this shouldn't wait any longer.” Viola's voice is firm.

“I'm serious, the Boss is--”

“Can it wait for my hair to dry?” 

All four figures turn to face her. Viola is so much shorter than her, but her body language shows no sign of being intimidated.

“It can probably wait that long.”

“Fine. Give me a few minutes.” 

She retreats into the master suite once again. She grabs a Murder Brawl hoodie from a few years ago off the floor and blow-dries her hair on the highest setting until it's close enough to dry that she can throw it back in a hairclip. Ugly “athletic” leggings, then socks and slides to finish off the "look." She'll laugh her fucking ass off if she finds out Viola has scheduled her a meeting with Killbane or someone who will care what she looks like. Today isn't the day to give a shit.

But Viola doesn't bat an eye when she leaves the room, nodding for her to take the elevator down to the garage. Her friends watch with apprehension as they leave.

Sure enough, nearly as soon as she's buckled into the passenger side of the sleek black Temptress Vi is driving today, there's a text from Shaundi.

_Please, please be careful, boss. I know that she's on our side now, but I still don't trust her. Please tell me you're packing._

She feels under the hoodie, the pistol tucked into a discreet holster above her waist.

_You're shitting me. You think I left the house without a piece?_

A return text; almost instantaneous.

_God, I love you. Be safe, boss._

Viola is largely silent on the drive, and she escorts them to an unmarked warehouse on Arapice. This is...well, everything was Loren's territory in a way, but this was on Luchadore ground, she thought. For the first time yet, she's curious about what exactly the lone surviving DeWynter has up her sleeve.

“I don't want you to bitch at me for not telling you about this sooner,” Viola begins as she leads the boss through the ratty warehouse. The click of her heels is almost hypnotic on the rickety floors as they head into a dim basement. “This was a gamble I didn't think was going to pay off.”

For a brief second, she imagines Killbane in some sort of fake sex dungeon, bound to a table for her to negotiate with. 

“It's been touch and go this whole time, really, but he woke up today and he asked for you. By name, actually. Took me a couple hours to figure out who he meant. But...uh...yeah.”

She pushes the double doors they've come to open to find a hospital bed. There's a slender, angular man in the bed who has the appearance of being even thinner than usual. He is sickly, and he looks weary, but he is very much alive.

Johnny looks up, and his brown eyes widen. 

“Julia,” he breathes, no louder than a whisper.

She hardly has time to register that this is real before she's across the room, one leg up on the bed, wanting to be as close as she can without hurting him. She takes his face in her hands and he does not crumble.

“Jules,” he murmurs, tasting the name he's never needed to say before. “You're here. You're alive.”

And she laughs, for the first real time in months. “You're fucking saying that to me?”

He leans up, puts his forehead against hers. “I've only been awake for half a day, but I've missed you, boss.”

His hands find their way into her hair-- there's an IV coming out of the back of one, but he manages to make it work. The hairclip falls to the floor with a clatter as he puts his fingers through the blue tangles. “Man, you look like a fuckin’ permanent marker.”

“I washed the dye out an hour ago.”

“You still do blue. Why blue?”

Their faces have come apart, she realizes, so she presses her forehead back into his own. “I wanted you to still know me if you made it back.”

“I'd know you anywhere, boss.”

“You don't have to call me that anymore.”

The door kicks open; of course they have trailed her here. Ever-vigilant, even when needless.

Pierce points his glock directly into the shape in the bed before he recognizes it, and something between a shriek and a laugh leaves his throat. Shaundi drops her gun and the waterworks start. Soon the bed is full, the last four of the Stilwater gang crowded together as close as they can. Shaundi is crying so hard. She's hidden her face in Johnny's shoulder and Pierce is rubbing her back, but a steady stream of tears is running down his own face.

Kinzie is standing back, allowing them their moment, and Viola is telling her in a low voice about how it was Kiki's idea, how she found him and saw about getting him treatment.

“After I lost her, I started giving more of a shit about it. They thought it was hopeless but I figured if she could survive a boat exploding… you know. Maybe somehow.”

Though he has one arm around Shaundi, Johnny's other hand is resting in Julia's lap, on her thigh. Periodically, his thumb swipes along the line in the leggings, to remind her he is there. That he is real.

The doctor under Viola's employ asks everyone to leave, but Johnny begs her to let Julia stay for a while longer. The rest of the gang file back to the car, and Viola and the doctor talk specifics about Johnny's health. They agree that he can probably be released in a week, and he looks up at her.

“Will you be able to wait that long, Jules?” 

Her hand has found its way to his face again. “I think I can.”

He puts his hand over hers. “When I get outta this joint, I'm doing something I should have done years ago.”

She knows what he means, but she leans in closer. “What's th--”

He catches her in the sweetest kiss she's ever felt before she can finish the question.

**Author's Note:**

> @saintsrow1's recent one-shot made me want to bite the bullet and write about my original boss, Julia!
> 
> I wrote this in two hours and it's such blatant wish fulfillment with such little else going on that I considered not posting it but then I just said fuck it


End file.
